


Something Special

by Persuade_me



Series: Arya/Gendry Week 2019 [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, axgweek, axgweek2019
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-11
Updated: 2019-08-11
Packaged: 2020-08-19 06:03:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,620
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20204926
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Persuade_me/pseuds/Persuade_me
Summary: There was something about the bastard her father had brought back with them from King’s Landing, something that made him special.Written for Arya/Gendry week. Day 1 prompt - Let's Run Away





	Something Special

Arya was not quite sure what happened in King’s Landing, but once she was heading home to Winterfell with her father and sister, she found she didn’t actually care. Her father’s short tenure as the Hand of King Robert had ended, along with the ill-fated betrothal between Sansa and Joffrey. 

Her sister had locked herself away in her cabin and wept for three days straight before finally emerging, red faced and desolate at the loss of her beloved. Arya personally thought her rather stupid for pining over that blond twit, but she kept that opinion to herself. As delighted as she was to be sailing home, her sister’s dreams of being queen had shattered, and she knew it was not wise to act as though their time in King’s Landing had meant nothing to Sansa.

So Arya had stayed away from her sister. It hadn’t been difficult, even on a small ship. Sansa had been just as eager to avoid her as Arya was to avoid Sansa. If Arya was on the deck, Sansa was in her cabin. If Sansa emerged to eat or get some fresh air, Arya retreated below to visit with the crew or her father’s men who were accompanying them back to Winterfell. 

It was during one of these visits that she became aware of three new additions to their party. A young woman called Mhaegen, her small baby girl Barra, and a boy around Jon’s age named Gendry were traveling with them. Arya found this curious as her father had sent most of their party home by the Kingsroad, only choosing Jory and a few guards to sail with them to White Harbor.

When she asked her father, Arya was told that Mhaegen was to serve in the Winterfell kitchens and Gendry was going to apprentice to Mikken, but she knew he was hiding something. It didn’t make sense for these two to be on the ship when her father’s own steward wasn’t.

Arya watched Mhaegen and Barra and Gendry, but she couldn’t see anything particularly special about them. Mhaegen was pretty and Gendry seemed strong, but that didn’t explain why they were there. Knowing she’d get no answers from her father, she asked Jory who told her the exact same thing her father had. She thought about asking Sansa, but they still weren’t speaking, and besides, Sansa probably knew less about it than she did. So she did the only thing she could think of.

***

“Why are you here?” Gendry started, then immediately bowed his head when he realized that Arya was speaking to him. 

“M’lady?”

“Why are you here? On the boat?” She looked at him curiously. He must know something.

Gendry wasn’t looking at her. “Your lord father is taking me to Winterfell, m’lady.”

“I know that,” she said, frustrated. “But why? Why aren’t you riding with the rest of the guards and the steward and my septa and all the rest of them on the Kingsroad? Why are you and Mhaegen and Barra with us?”

“I don’t know, m’lady.” His eyes were trained somewhere around her knees.

Arya stomped her foot. “Look at me!” 

He glanced up at her face in surprise, but then quickly lowered his eyes again. “Beggin’ your pardon, m’lady, but that wouldn’t be proper.”

“Why not?”

“Because you’re a lady, m’lady,” he said as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. 

“I’m not a lady!”

At this, he looked a bit confused. “Isn’t Lord Stark your father?”

“Of course he is, stupid.”

“Well, then that makes you a lady,” he said stubbornly. “M’lady.”

Arya could see she wasn’t going to convince him otherwise. “Fine. I’m a lady, then. I command you to look at me and answer my questions.”

Gendry looked up at her warily. “Yes, m’lady.”

“And to stop calling me ‘m’lady’!”

She thought she saw him smile, but it was so quick she might have imagined it. He just looked at her, clearly unsure of what to say.

“You’re a smith, right?”

He nodded.

“And you’re going to Winterfell to apprentice to our blacksmith?”

He nodded again.

“But he already has an apprentice, and he doesn’t need another one. Mikken isn’t old or going anywhere else, so why are you coming to Winterfell with us?”

Gendry looked at her, confusion written across his face. “He doesn’t need an apprentice?”

She shook her head.

“But Lord Stark said he did. Said Winterfell needed one. He came back to get me special.”

“Back to get you?” she asked.

“Aye. He’d come to the shop and asked me some questions. Then a few days later he came back and told me I was coming with him. Next thing I know, I’m on this ship sailing north.”

“He asked you questions? What kind of questions?” Arya was determined to get to the bottom of this. 

“Just questions. Whether I liked working there, how they treated me. Asked about my mum. Same as the last Hand.”

“The last Hand? Lord Arryn asked you questions too?”

Gendry nodded.

“And you didn’t find that strange?” Arya wondered how anyone could be that stupid.

“A bit,” he shrugged, “but it’s not my place to question highborns.”

Arya stared at him, chewing her lip. She wondered what he thought of her and her questions. He must think her odd, and for some reason that bothered her.

“I’m going to figure this out,” she told him. “There must be a reason you’re here. Something special about you and Mhaegen and Barra.”

“I’m nothing special, m’lady. I’m just a bastard.”

She glared at him. “There’s nothing wrong with being a bastard. My favorite brother is a bastard, and he’s the best of all.”

Gendry really did smile then. 

***

By the time they arrived at White Harbor, Arya thought she might consider Gendry a friend. He still didn’t know anything about anything, but he had at least stopped calling her “m’lady” every other sentence. Once they’d sailed up the White Knife and taken horses to Castle Cerwyn, she thought he might consider her a friend as well. He’d taken to teasing her about Needle and although he still called her “m’lady” if anyone else was within earshot, he’d actually said “Arya” as he tossed her an apple from his pack when they’d stopped to rest the night at the castle.

***

“You need to stop.”

Arya turned to look at her sister. “You’re speaking to me again?”

“You need to stop,” Sansa repeated.

“Stop what?”

“I’ve been watching you, you know. With him. You need to stop. It’s not proper.”

Arya had no doubt who the “him” was that Sansa was referring to, and her blood boiled with rage. 

“It’s none of your business who I talk to,” she snapped at her sister. 

“Even so,” Sansa replied. “It’s not proper, and mother will never allow it.”

“I don’t care!” Arya cried. “He’s my friend.”

“He’s a bastard,” Sansa spat out. “And a bastard is no kind of friend for a lady, even one like you.”

“I don’t care. Besides, he’s not _ just _ a bastard. There’s something special about him. Him and Mhaegen and Barra.” Arya still hadn’t discovered what it was, but she knew it was there. 

Sansa looked rather offended at her words. “Special? About a bastard and a former prostitute? What could possibly be special about them?”

Arya hadn’t realized that’s what Mhaegen was, but she didn’t see why that mattered. “They are special,” she insisted. “You’ll see.”

“It doesn’t matter,” her sister said. “Mother will never allow it.”

***

Sansa had been right. Her mother hadn’t allowed it. Arya suspected her sister might have let something slip when every time she got close to the forge someone, a guard, a servant, a cook, seemed to need her right away. They’d been back at Winterfell for almost two moons before she finally managed to speak to Gendry again. 

***

“I’m still trying to figure it out, you know.” 

Gendry jumped. He hadn’t heard her sneak up behind him. “Seven hells, Arya!” 

She laughed, but when he suddenly seemed to remember himself and dropped his gaze from hers, her laughter stopped. 

“I’m sorry I haven’t been able to come and see you before this,” she said. “My mother seems determined to keep me from you.”

“Perhaps that’s for the best, m’lady.” Gendry would not meet her eye.

Arya glared at him. “Don’t you dare! You are my friend, and I won’t have you thinking otherwise.”

“It’s not proper, m’lady. You’re still a lord’s daughter, and I’m still a bastard.”

She stomped across the forge and shoved him. Hard. He fell over laughing. “What kind of a lord’s daughter are you?”

“This kind,” she yelled, and she kicked him, but not that hard, before turning to flee.

“Arya, wait.” It was his use of her name that stayed her feet, but she did not turn to face him as she waited for him to speak again.

“I am your friend, but you have to know that this isn’t proper. I’m a baseborn bastard, and you- you’re a lady and the daughter of the Warden of the North.”

She whirled back around to glare at him. “I don’t care. You’re my friend, and you’re more than a bastard.” She paused. “I just haven’t found out why you’re special yet.”

He grinned at her. “Let me know if you ever do, will you?”

“Course I will.” She flashed him a big toothy grin before running out of the forge.

***

Their friendship grew. She visited when she could, bringing him treats she’d sneak from the kitchen and telling him how her water dancing was going now that Syrio had arrived from King’s Landing or how she’d skipped out on embroidery with Septa Mordane to climb trees in the Godswood. He would show her the work he’d done, forging swords and horseshoes and nails and anything else that Winterfell needed. He watched her practice with Needle and when her father offered to have him trained in swordplay, she hugged him with glee before they both remembered themselves and swiftly separated. 

They grew closer, but she was still more child than woman and their friendship was simply that. Her mother would frown in clear disapproval whenever she caught Arya emerging from the forge, but nothing she said could dissuade her daughter from keeping her blacksmith. And so almost three years passed. Arya thought that perhaps the possibility of losing them all to King’s Landing had softened her mother a bit, but when she bled for the first time shortly before her fourteenth nameday she found her mother had just been biding her time. 

When she discovered that Arya had finally flowered, Catelyn had attempted to forbid her from seeing Gendry anymore. But deny Arya anything, and it became the only thing she wanted. She still saw him, still teased him, still told him he was special. And he was still there, calling her “m’lady” when she annoyed him and showing her how much he’d learned under the direction of Ser Rodrik. He was strong, quick with a sword, but brutal with a warhammer. She knew he was more comfortable with that instead of a blade, but once, she’d caught an uneasy look on her father’s face as he watched Gendry in the practice yard. It reminded her that he was in Winterfell for a reason, though she still did not know why.

***

“She looks a bit like you.” Arya had just handed him a warm pastry, stolen from the kitchens.

“Who?” 

“Barra. Her eyes are the same shade as yours, and she’s got your black hair too.”

“Lots of people have black hair,” he said.

“People talk about her, you know. And you.”  
  
“What?” His face scrunched in confusion.

“You and Mhaegen and Barra. Some people say that you’re Barra’s father.” For some reason, that rumor bothered Arya. A lot.

“What!? That’s- That’s not- I mean-” His face turned pink. “I never met Mhaegen before your father brought me to that ship.”

“I know that, and she denies it as well, but with the three of you arriving together, and Barra looking enough like you to be a sibling, it makes people wonder.” 

“Well, people are idiots then. I’ve never even-” He stopped, blushing scarlet. 

“Never what?” she asked curiously.

“Never...you know.” He wouldn’t meet her questioning gaze. 

It took her a moment to catch his meaning. “Oh.” A small, satisfied feeling that she didn’t quite understand flared in her chest. “Good.”

His head snapped up. “Good?”

For the first time, she found she couldn’t look at him. Her cheeks burning, she turned to leave, but he reached out and grabbed her wrist. She looked down at where his hand was wrapped around hers. 

He never touched her. She’d shove him. She’d bump his shoulder with hers. She’d playfully swat at his face when he called her “m’lady”. But other than the one time he hugged her back, he’d never touched her.

Arya looked up at him, his eyes fixed on hers, his expression unreadable. “Why is it good, Arya?” he whispered.

She couldn’t breathe. Her heart was suddenly racing in a way that hours with Syrio had never done, and she didn’t know what to say. “It just...is.”

“Why?”

“Because. Because you’re special.” 

Neither of them moved. They stood, just looking at each other until a loud noise from outside the forge brought them both back to themselves and they jumped apart, Gendry dropping her hand as if it would burn him.

“I’m not,” he argued. 

“You are,” she said stubbornly. “I just haven’t found out why yet.”

***

Another year passed. Robb married, and Sansa was betrothed, soon to be wed to the heir of Highgarden. At almost five and ten, Arya was now a woman grown, and her mother had seemingly made it her duty to turn her into a proper lady, and proper ladies were not friends or anything else with bastard blacksmiths. But despite her mother’s best efforts, Arya still crept into the forge as often as she could. Sometimes to bother him, sometimes to talk, and sometimes just to watch him work. On those occasions, she always left feeling flustered and lacking something she couldn’t define. 

A week before her fifteenth nameday, her father announced that King Robert was coming to visit Winterfell again, and that he would be arriving within a fortnight. It wasn’t until he told them that it was only the king and not the rest of the royal family that Arya and Sansa both managed to smile at the news. 

***

“I brought you something.” It was late. Her nameday feast had gone on far longer than she’d expected, and she’d only just managed to sneak away. 

Gendry looked up from his work table and smiled at the piece of cake she held out to him. “And how was it? How was your feast?”

“Horrid,” she complained. “My mother made me dance with Cley Cerwyn and all three of the Tallharts.” 

He didn’t reply, just glared at the cake as if it had personally offended him.

“I stepped on their toes,” she confessed.

“What? All of them?” Gendry looked up to find her grinning at him.

She nodded. “And I might have mentioned my love of sword fighting several times and that my sewing is dreadful.”

“You know, you’re never going to get a husband if you scare them all off.”

“That’s the idea, stupid,” she said, rolling her eyes. “Now eat your cake.”

He started to reach for it, but stopped uncertainly. “I- I have something for you.”

“For me? Why?” 

“It’s your nameday, isn’t it?” He turned and disappeared into the small room where he slept. When he emerged, he was holding a small bundle of fabric. “Here,” he said thrusting it into her hands.

Turning her attention downward, she slowly unwrapped the cloth to reveal a dagger. It was tucked into a simple leather sheath, but when she pulled it out, she gasped at its beauty. On the blade was a carved scene depicting a direwolf running through a forest. “Nymeria,” she breathed. 

Arya looked up to see Gendry watching her closely, nervousness clearly visible across his face. “I watched Shaggydog and Summer and Grey Wind for ages to try to get her right, I don’t know if-”

She cut him off. “It’s beautiful, Gendry.” She carefully resheathed her dagger and placed it on his work table.

“It’s just- I know you have Needle, but I thought you could use another weapon, and it never hurts to have something smaller and-” 

Whatever else he was going to say was lost when she threw her arms around his neck and pressed her lips to his cheek. He started to step backwards, away from her, but Arya hugged him tighter and his arms moved, almost involuntarily, to wrap around her.

“Thank you, Gendry,” she said softly. “It’s perfect.”

After a long moment, she released his neck and stepped back, unable to meet his eyes. 

“I need to get back before my mother misses me.” She turned to go, her new dagger gripped tightly in her hand. Pausing at the door, she spoke so quietly he almost didn’t hear her. 

“I’m not going to marry a Cerwyn or a Tallhart or an Umber or any of them, you know.”

Gendry wasn’t quite sure what she was saying. “Why not?”

Arya turned back to face him and smiled, “Because they’re not special, stupid.”

***

The king arrived a week later, and when he’d dismounted his horse to greet the family, his face went white when he saw hers. And then later in the great hall, when he was well and truly in his cups, he’d tried to pull her to him, his hands fumbling and grasping at her, whispering her dead aunt’s name, before her father steered him away and her mother sent her to bed immediately, which Arya did not understand because even Rickon was still up.

She was so unsettled by the experience that she went straight to the forge only to find Gendry’s room empty. It was several days before she realized that Mhaegen and Barra had vanished as well. She only discovered that when she visited the kitchens and overheard two of the cooks complaining about her absence, but she was relieved to hear that they were expecting her back within the next few weeks as she could only assume that meant Gendry would return then as well.

The disappearance of all three of them at once seemed significant, especially when timed with the king’s visit. Arya felt as if she’d been given a clue, but she didn’t know what it meant. Only that Gendry was special, and that somehow Mhaegen and Barra were as well.

For the rest of King Robert’s visit, Arya seemed to be needed elsewhere almost every time he appeared. She could feel his eyes on her before her mother, her father, or her septa would send her off on errands or to study with Maester Luwin or to her delight, extra lessons with Syrio.

It wasn’t until the day before the king was to depart that she truly saw him again. She’d been practicing with Syrio when King Robert suddenly appeared, watching her intently, an odd look on his face that unnerved her. Arya had curtsied, and when she looked up at him as he kissed her hand, she was struck by the realization that his eyes looked exactly like Gendry’s, but harder, more calculating. She’d only just began to form a thought in her mind when her mother appeared and ordered her back to the keep to sew with Sansa. For once in her life, Arya was grateful for a different kind of needle.

***

“Where have you been?”

Gendry looked at her wearily. “Gods, Arya, can’t you give me a moment? We’ve only just returned.”

She hadn’t realized how much she’d missed him until he was standing in front of her, and she suddenly wanted to throw her arms around him and not let go for a very long time.

“I haven’t seen you in weeks, and you can’t even answer a simple question?” 

He sighed heavily. “You’re not going to let me be until I answer you, are you?”

She shook her head, grinning at him.

He leaned against his work table. “Your father sent me to the crofter’s village nearby in the wolfswood. I was meant to help with some repairs on their longhall, but we didn’t do much. They don’t even have a forge there, so I’m not sure why they needed me.”

“Were Mhaegen and Barra there as well?”

He frowned. “They were, actually. One of the villager’s wives needed assistance with...something. I’m not sure what exactly, because Mhaegen didn’t seem to do anything the entire time we were there.”

Arya looked at him, considering his words. “So, you, Mhaegen, and Barra are all sent away from Winterfell right as the king arrives, to help at a village, where you didn’t really help, and then the day after the king leaves, you’re brought back.”

Gendry’s brow furrowed in thought. “That’s odd, isn’t it? That timing?”

Arya bit her lip and nodded, wondering if she should share her suspicions with him. She wanted to tell him, but with only a vague notion of what it all might mean, she wasn’t sure if she should. She moved next to him and nudged his shoulder.

“Well, I’m glad you’re back now. Everyone was acting so strangely, and I really wanted to talk to you about it.”

He turned to face her. “Strangely how?”

“I don’t know exactly. That first night, the king drank a lot and tried to...hug me or something? He called me Lyanna, and my mother sent me to bed, and the rest of the time he was here it was like everyone was trying to keep him away from me. He kept looking at me funny, like he’d never seen a girl before.” She stared down at her hands. “It...bothered me.”

Gendry reached out and grabbed her hand, and she looked up at him in surprise. 

“I’m sorry I wasn’t here for you,” he said softly. 

Arya saw concern and regret and something else she couldn’t place in his eyes. “I missed you,” she whispered.

“I missed you too.” For a brief moment, he leaned down and rested his forehead against hers. “You’d better get back now. I’ll see you later, yeah?”

“Yeah. Later.”

***

Something had shifted, and it was like a wall had fallen. Gendry touched her now. Not in an obvious way or at all inappropriately, just casually and sometimes, she thought deliberately. When she handed him bread warm from the kitchen, his fingers would linger a few seconds longer than necessary. If he walked past her in the forge, he no longer stepped around her, but would brush against her, his arm trailing past hers. Once, when he was showing her the last sword he’d made, he briefly rested his hand against her lower back as she held the blade out in front of her. Arya found that she liked it when he touched her and kept finding excuses to move into his space without quite understanding it. When she caught his eyes flicking down to her mouth, she finally realized why.

It seemed that others might have realized it as well.

***

“The boy has to go, Ned.”

Arya froze. She’d been wandering in the Godswood when she heard her mother’s voice, and instinctively, she knew that this was not a conversation she should be caught listening to.

“He’s not a boy, Cat. He’s a man grown, and I’m not sending him away. It’s not safe for him anywhere else.”

“He’d be safe at the Wall, and he’d be away from here, away from her.”

“I’m not forcing him into the Watch. He’s done nothing wrong.”

“You’ve seen the way he looks at her, how he never smiles except at her. I know you have, and I’m telling you, he has to go.”

Her father sighed, and Arya could hear the finality in his voice when he spoke. “He’s not going anywhere.”

“If you won’t send him away, then what would you have me do? I can hardly lock her in her room, but you must separate them. This thing between them, this...friendship, it has to stop.”

“I know, Cat, but I can’t send her away either, not now.” There was a warning in his voice.

“What is it you’re not telling me?” 

Her father was quiet for a moment. “I had an offer. From Starfall. I mentioned it to Robert when he was here, but he...he forbid it. Said she should go to King’s Landing with him. That a jewel like her should belong to the crown.” He paused. “She _ cannot _ leave. Do you understand, Cat?”

“He _ wouldn’t_.” Her mother’s voice sounded horrified. 

“He might, and we cannot risk it. She stays here.”

There was silence for several minutes, and Arya began to think they’d left when she heard her mother speak again. 

“And what of the boy?”

“I don’t know, Cat, but he stays too.”

***

She did not tell Gendry about what she’d overheard. Her suspicions over what her father had implied were too appalling to even think about, let alone say aloud to someone else. At first, her mother seemed reluctant to let her out of her sight, but as the weeks passed and the preparations for Sansa’s wedding became more and more pressing, Arya was able to resume her regular visits to the forge. Her time with Gendry was, as always, the best part of her days.

A few more moons, and Sansa married and left for Highgarden. Arya had always thought that once Sansa was taken care of, her parents would turn to securing her future, but neither her father or her mother said a word to her. She kept waiting for...something, but it seemed that her wish to avoid a political marriage was coming true, and somehow, it felt like a hollow victory.

Two moons before she was to turn six and ten, a raven arrived from King’s Landing. Arya never knew what the message was, but her mother, her father, Maester Luwin, Septa Mordane, and even Robb all seemed uneasy every time they looked at her for weeks. Something had happened, or was going to happen, and she knew it concerned her.

***

“No one will tell me anything, Gendry. They look at me like I’m dying or something, and I don’t know why.”

He set down his hammer and looked at her. “I heard something, but I don’t know if it means anything or not.”

“Tell me.”

Gendry frowned down at the nails he’d been working on. “Yesterday, I was taking some horseshoes to the stables, and your father came in with your brother. I don’t think they knew I was there, but I heard them talking.” He paused. “Your father said, ‘He’s coming back, and I think he means to take her with him,’ then your brother said, ‘We can’t let him. It’s not right. She’s not her,’ and your father said he knew that, but then they left so I couldn’t hear anything more.” He looked at her, worry etched across his face. “Were they talking about you?”

Arya’s chest felt heavy with dread. “I think they must have been,” she whispered. And she told him about her dead aunt and the conversation she’d overheard in the Godswood all those moons ago. Gendry drew his own conclusions.

“We’ll leave. We’ll run. I’ll carry you myself if I have to.” He wrapped his arms around her, his body shaking.

“And where would we go? Where could we possibly go?” She buried her face in his chest, not wanting him to let go.

“I don’t know, but I’m not letting anything happen to you.”

“If he- If it’s-” She couldn’t say it. “They could _ kill _you, Gendry.”

“I don’t care. I’m keeping you safe, no matter what.”

“Why?”

He leaned back and tilted her head up to look him in the eyes. “Because, Arya. Because you’re special.”

***

Surprisingly enough, it was her mother who gave her the answer, or at least part of it. When a recruiter for the Watch passed through Winterfell a few weeks later, Arya heard Catelyn say to her father that the Wall must be even colder now with winter coming. She did nothing, but she planned and she planted the seeds of a plan. 

She mentioned to her father how much she missed Jon. A few days later, she asked Robb if he’d ever seen the Wall. The next week, she told her mother that she’d really like to see more of the North. In the forge, she whispered with Gendry, half-formed ideas and vague impressions of what might come.

The day after another raven arrived, her father summoned her to his solar. She was to visit Jon at the Wall. Robb and a few others would accompany her, and they would be leaving within a fortnight. He wasn’t sure how long they would stay, though. As future Warden of the North, it was important for Robb to fully understand the needs of the Night’s Watch, and so he must stay until he did. On her way out, he apologized that this meant she’d miss the royal visit as they would leave before the king’s arrival, and she froze, the confirmation of her fears washing over her like ice.

***

“Haven’t you started packing yet?” Arya looked at his belongings strewn about his room. 

Gendry turned to look at her, confusion in his eyes. “Packing for what?”

“Robb’s taking me to the Wall to visit Jon. We’re leaving next week, and I don’t know when we’ll be back. Aren’t you coming too?”

He shook his head.

“Oh. I- I assumed that you’d be sent away. Like last time. You and Mhaegen and Barra. And I thought...” Arya felt the stirrings of panic deep within.

He stared at her. “No one’s said anything to me about the Wall, but Mikken told me there’s a holdfast that needs some work. Said I might have to go in a few weeks.”

“It’s because he’s coming. He’s coming back, and for some reason you can’t be here. But I can’t be here either, so father’s sending me away.”

“You’ll be safe, though. At the Wall, even if I’m not there. Safe with Robb and Jon.”

She looked at him, pleading, “But they’re not you, Gendry.”

“How am I supposed to come with you? I can’t just saddle up a horse and tag along.”

“Join the Watch.”

He reared back as if she’d slapped him. “What?”

“Not really, stupid. Lie. They’ll let you come if you want to join the Watch. They don’t have to know it’s a lie.”

Gendry sighed. “They’ll know, Arya.” He turned away from her. “They already know.”

She stilled at the pain in his voice. “Know what?” she asked softly.

He was quiet. “How I feel. About you. That I’d never leave you, not by choice.”

She’d known. Without realizing it, she’d known because his words did not surprise her. 

“Then don’t. Come with me.”

“I- I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“Gods, Arya,” he exploded. “Don’t you get it? They’ll never let me! It’s not- it’s not proper.”

“No.” She was furious. “You know what’s not proper? Not proper is a man older than my father calling me a dead woman’s name and looking at me like he thinks I’m her. Not proper is him riding north for the second time in a year for no good reason. Not proper is me being sent away from home for gods knows how long because of something he might do.” 

She glared at him. “You and me? Maybe it’s not proper either, but it’s right, Gendry. It’s good and it’s honest and it’s _ ours_. Okay? And I don’t care what anyone says because you- you’re special. You’re _ mine_, and I’m yours, and-”

His lips were on hers, and his arms were wrapped so tightly around her she thought her heart would burst. Or maybe that was just because of how fiercely he was kissing her.

When they finally pulled apart, neither of them could hardly speak. 

“You’re coming with me,” she breathed.

“As m’lady commands.”

***

They found her in the forge. One look at Maester Luwin’s face, and she grabbed Gendry’s hand and did not let go, no matter the looks of disapproval. Not even once they were in her father’s solar. 

Another raven had arrived. The queen was dead. As was her twin. Both executed for the crime of incest. The king was already on his way north, and Arya knew there was another, unwritten message, buried below the words on the parchment, but she could not bring herself to ask.

Her father looked between her and Gendry, eyes halting briefly on their clasped hands, and he dismissed her from the room. Arya lurked outside in the corridor, trying to distinguish any words in the murmur of their voices, but she heard nothing. When Gendry finally emerged, his face was drawn, but he smiled weakly at her before quickly pressing his lips to her forehead.

They left before dawn.

***

“I can’t believe you’re here, Arya.” Jon’s words were muffled, his face buried in her hair. “I’ve missed you, little sister.”

“I’ve missed you too, Jon. So much.” Arya could feel tears at the corners of her eyes. “I’ve so much to tell you.”

“Later, Arya,” Robb interrupted laughing. “Let the Lord Commander breathe.” 

Jon pulled back and looked at his half-brother for a moment before pulling him into a hug. “You’re both here. How long are you staying? The message from father wasn’t clear on that.”

Robb cleared his throat and glanced uneasily at Arya. “As long as we need to. You and I need to speak, Jon. As soon as possible.”

Jon frowned, looking between Robb and Arya. “All right. We can speak in my chambers.”

Robb turned to where Gendry and the Winterfell guards were waiting. “Gendry, I’ll need you too,” he said stiffly.

Arya could see Jon studying him curiously, the only man not wearing Stark colors. She turned to Gendry to find a small look of panic on his face. They’d barely spoken on the ride north, not with Robb at her side almost every moment. She smiled at him encouragingly, “I’ll see you later, all right?”

He gave her a tiny nod and followed her brothers into a nearby stone tower.

***

She didn’t see any of them again for hours. She was shown to a room in the King’s Tower where she waited. And waited. And waited. She passed the time by water dancing and practicing with her dagger, but her mind was elsewhere. When her brothers finally rejoined her, they both looked grim and neither one would answer her questions or tell her where Gendry was.

A week passed and a raven arrived from Winterfell. The king had arrived, but there was no need to hurry back. Robb needed to fulfill his duty.

Arya saw Gendry in the hall at meal times and across the yard. She ached to touch him, to talk to him, but they could only smile, communicating silently through long learned looks and gestures.

Another week brought another raven. The king had extended his visit.

It was another week before they finally managed a few minutes alone together tucked into an alcove off the training yard. She kissed him desperately before demanding to know what her brothers had said to him. He didn’t get the chance to tell her.

Another raven had arrived. This time from Castle Cerwyn. 

***

“He’s refusing to leave. Father says he’s claiming that the North is helping him grieve the loss of his queen, and that he will stay as long as he needs to recover from her betrayal.” Robb looked exhausted.

She was in Jon’s chambers with both of her brothers and Gendry. The three of them kept exchanging looks heavy with meaning, and the fact that none of them would speak openly in front of her made her furious.

Arya glared around the table at them. “That’s what he’s saying, then. What isn’t he saying, Robb? I’m not stupid. I know why he sent me here.”

Robb looked at Jon, and they both sighed. They seemed to come to some kind of agreement, because Jon turned to her and spoke. “Father’s being very careful in his wording. Even sending the raven from Castle Cerwyn, he can’t say what he means. He’s written that Robb should take all the time he needs, but that your absence is felt stronger every day.” He looked at her pointedly.

Arya slumped back in her chair, feeling defeated. “He’s not leaving then. Not until I return. Not until-” Her skin crawled. She felt foul, as if she were drowning in dirt and decay. She turned to look at Gendry. He looked as sick as she felt.

“We don’t know that for certain, Arya,” Robb said gently. 

“But can we risk it?” Gendry spoke for the first time. “Could you live with yourself if she went back to _ that?"_

They all fell into silence, contemplating just how loathsome _ that _ was.

“But what can we do?” Jon asked. “She can’t stay at the Wall forever. Arya, you’re going to have to go back eventually.”

Arya shifted to face Gendry and grasped his hands in hers. She ignored the huff of indignation from Robb. “Did you mean it? What you told me before. About carrying me?”

“Yes,” he said immediately. “More than anything.”

They looked at each other for a long moment. “All right then.” She turned back to Robb. “Send a raven. Tell them you’re sending me home with a single guard, you can’t spare any others. It’s at least a three week journey, so we should have a while before they realize something’s wrong.”

Jon’s face creased in confusion, Robb’s in disapproval. They both spoke at once, words spilling over each other and impossible to understand once Arya started yelling as well. It wasn’t until Gendry stood and slammed his fist on the table that they quieted, looking at him in surprise.

He nodded at Robb, “Apologies, m’lord,” then Jon, “Lord Commander”, then he turned, kneeling down before her and taking her hands. “Arya, I never had a chance to tell you what your father spoke with me about the night before we left. He thought this might happen, and he knew you’d run. That we’d run, and he- He was prepared. He made me promise.” He glanced at her brothers before reaching into his cloak and pulling out two sealed rolls of parchment. “He wanted me to give these to you. He didn’t think you’d believe me.”

They took the letters without speaking. Arya watched as they read, a thousand expressions flitting across their faces, anger, pain, sorrow, resignation. She turned back to Gendry to find his eyes fixed on hers.

“Are you sure?” he asked her quietly. “Do you realize what you’d be giving up? Your family, your home, your future.”

“I know what I’m losing, Gendry, but I’m keeping you. You’re my family. You’re my home. _ You’re _ my future.” He was still kneeling in front of her, and she dropped to the floor on her knees to kiss him.

***

Robb hadn’t been happy about it, but he understood. He sent a raven to Winterfell informing them that Arya would be leaving for home, with Gendry as her guard by the end of the week. Her father could read between the lines. 

They left in the middle of the night, after a quick visit to the Godswood north of the Wall where Gendry wrapped his cloak around her shoulders. Afterwards, Jon put them on mules atop the Wall and sent them to Eastwatch accompanied by two of his most loyal brothers, both sworn to secrecy. By the time they arrived at the sea, Arya and Gendry were both dressed in black, her hair cut short and her breasts bound tight. Under heavy furs, to anyone’s eyes, just two brothers of the Watch heading to Essos on a commission for the Lord Commander.

It wasn’t until they sailed under the Titan of Braavos that either of them breathed freely again. 

***

“The rumors of my death have been greatly exaggerated.” Arya entered their small home over Gendry’s forge, laughing.

It’d been four years since they’d fled, but the gossip from Westeros still traveled, even across the Narrow Sea.

“What is it this time?” he asked, pulling her to him for a long kiss. “Snow bears again? Wildlings? Ice spiders?” His lips trailed down her neck as he skittered his fingers up her arm like a tiny bug.

“Mmm,” she hummed as his mouth dipped below her collarbone. “You.”

Gendry pulled back immediately. “What?”

She huffed in irritation at the loss of contact. “You. Or more accurately, the nameless bastard guard escorting me home killed me, then consumed with guilt, he flung himself off the Wall.” 

“That’s not funny, Arya.”

“It’s a little funny. It doesn’t even make any sense.” She looked up at him, surprised by the fury on his face. “Hey,” she said, reaching out to grasp the back of his neck. “Look at me. What does it matter how I died? Whether it’s snow bears or wildlings or a lovesick guard, it’s all the same in the end. Me and you, here, together.”

“It’s just- Look, I know it’s ridiculous, but I hate anyone thinking that I’d ever hurt you.” He rubbed his hand over his face. “It’s stupid for me to expect that no one would ever reach that conclusion. I mean, the young, beautiful maiden of Winterfell was last seen in the company of a bastard, and everyone knows that bastards can’t control themselves or their lusts,” he said sarcastically. “So logically, it must be the dishonorable, depraved bastard that killed her.” He looked so miserable, Arya thought her heart would break.

“Gendry, that’s not you. I know that’s not you. You’d never hurt me, and you- you’re so much more than-” She took his face in her hands. “A bastard is just what you happen to be. It’s not who you are.”

“Yeah, a king’s bastard,” he said bitterly, pulling away from her.

She froze in surprise. “How did-”

He sighed. “That last night in Winterfell. Your father told me. Thought I should know. I never said anything because… Well, considering the circumstances, I thought it might make you uncomfortable.” He looked at her pointedly. “You don’t seem shocked, though. How long have you known? Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I only suspected. I wasn’t certain until now.”

He scoffed. “Guess we finally know what it was that made me special.”

“That’s not what made you special,” she said gently. “It never was. The thing that made you special...was you.” She reached up and pulled his face to hers. “So stop thinking whatever it is you’re thinking. Stop worrying about the rumors from Westeros. Stop telling yourself you’re anything less than exactly what I want.” 

Swallowing, he nodded at her before drawing her close and kissing her hard.

“Oh, before I forget,” she pulled away and smiled widely up at him. “I heard another rumor when I was out today. About a dying king. Apparently, twenty straight years of whoring and nonstop drinking has a way of catching up with you.”

He narrowed his eyes, thinking, and she watched as the realization of what that could mean hit him.

“If he- Then we could-“

She nodded. “If it’s safe for us, and we could return...” She trailed off. “I know that our life here is...less complicated. No one’s looking at us, judging us, thinking it’s not proper. I’m not a lady here, I’m just Arya, and you’re just Gendry, and we’re just us. And I’m not saying I want to leave, but…” Her eyes burned. “I ran away with you once thinking I would never see any of them again, and I don’t regret it. I’d do it over and over and over to be here with you, but if we could visit, if I could just see them again…”

His arms tightened around her. “You don’t have to ask, Arya. Of course we’ll go. As soon as it’s safe, we’ll go.”

***

A year later, and six moons after the death of the king, two riders arrived at Winterfell, unannounced. The resurrection of Arya Stark was not proclaimed across the land, but the news spread all the same. The lost daughter of Winterfell, long thought to be dead, had returned, with a bastard blacksmith husband of all things. Or at least, that’s what the rumors said. It was whispered across the North, past the Riverlands, through the Reach, beyond the Crownlands, and all the way down to Dorne until all of Westeros had heard the curious tale of Arya Stark. 

Some thought it scandalous, others terribly romantic. Either way, the highborn lady and her bastard lover were written into songs, but if said lady and her bastard ever heard any, it wasn’t in the great hall of Winterfell. Because, as the gossip went, they disappeared again with as little notice as when they’d first arrived. 

Although, if Lord and Lady Stark were upset by their youngest daughter running away again, no one in Winterfell seemed to notice. If anything, the Warden of the North appeared more content than he had in years, and if the Starks suddenly had pressing business in Braavos every other year or so, well, that was no one’s concern but theirs.

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me on Tumblr at fandomjuxtaposition, but I don't actually do anything except reblog posts I want to save and I know I'll never find again.


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